


stolen moments.

by Candybara



Series: Word Count Challenges [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Softcore Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-06-05 15:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candybara/pseuds/Candybara
Summary: midnight comes and goes...





	1. firelight.

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling something more free-form and abstract, so… have a ficlet!

Midnight comes and goes, and you’re still wide awake by the time Eliwood gets up to kindle the hearth that sits in the far corner of the room. Starlight streams in from the opposite side of the bed where you lie, sheets tousled between your limbs, and it didn’t really feel all that late before, but even less so now. You don’t care, though, since you’re already restless, so you let your eyes trail down to where the pale shine of the moon casts a shadow beneath him as he kneels on the floor, leaning in to let the dancing flames warm his palms. You stare for a moment too long, mesmerized, and he turns at the feel of your gaze on his back, but smiles sweetly when you use it as an excuse to pad over and join him.

 _I couldn’t sleep_ , he says, and neither could you, not at all, but he apologizes for disturbing you regardless. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he runs his fingers through your hair, deliberately, smoothing through the tips until your body starts to melt against him. His opposite hand rests on the flat of your thigh, his thumb rubbing circles into the skin just above your knee, and you nearly purr on a sigh, feeling as though the heat that lingers in the wake of his touch is just about as soothing as it is distracting. Then, on a whim, you pull yourself into his lap and kiss him, and he’s remarkably chaste about it at first, but he’s pleased enough to give a silvery laugh when you suddenly take off your nightshirt and ask him to keep going.

His hands are somehow smooth, his fingers unmarked by blisters despite the years they’ve spent curled around the hilt of a sword, and with them he touches you where it matters, so that you hardly feel yourself growing heated. He takes his time, enjoying the way you’ve bared yourself for him, and you let him caress you to his heart’s content, watching you carefully but with bright eyes, breathtakingly blue under the fall of his bangs.

He waits until your gasps fade into moans before he takes you back to bed and loves you thoroughly, his voice melting into your skin as he offers you a bouquet of promises, praises swathed in whispers even softer than his lips. He moves fluidly, pressing flush against you, and you almost lose yourself in the bliss, having your fill of him in every way possible. Your pulse spikes when he draws you to the edge, kissing you endlessly, and you taste the warmth on his breath, sweet and rich as the honeyed hues of amber in his gentle glow.

He strokes your hip when all is said and done, and you shiver as a breeze creeps in through the open window, skin prickling, chill sweeping over you. Eliwood holds you closer in his arms.

 _A blanket?_ he suggests.

 _No_ , you say. _Just you._


	2. thunderhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Legendary Hector's voice lines in Heroes made me both very happy and very sad.

Midnight comes and goes, and Hector’s looking up at you with tired eyes that hurt to stare into. He has his head in your lap, and you’ve managed to help him unwind a fair amount simply by stroking across his jaw with your thumbs, hands cupped tenderly against the sides of his face. He places a palm over your knuckles, and there’s a certain fondness to it, but fatigue bites hard, leaving behind a tension that you’re regrettably unable to smooth away. Even worse than that, he has politics on his mind, so he can’t drift off to sleep, and you wouldn’t dream of leaving him alone when he looks so hollow, wearing a smile that’s not quite fake, but not quite real, either.

 _It’s just not my style_ , he tells you, his shoulders slumping wearily against your thighs. _Sitting on some throne…_

His words send a pang of sorrow through you, and you press a kiss to his forehead, thinking carefully. It’s then that an idea comes to you, and you waste little time in coaxing him to his feet, guiding him gently by the hand, feeling both pleased and relieved when he smiles softly, genuinely, and follows without a hint of reservation.

You take him out by clouded moonlight to spar like he did in his prime, when things were simpler than they are now, when his blood coursed strong and bold with lightning and he scarcely surrendered to hesitation, always carrying that eager, reckless grin that you’d initially fallen in love with. It feels foreign to see him wield a sword, but you’d picked your blade first, and he respects you too much to put himself at a disadvantage, even when you know that he’d enjoy the challenge. You’re glad to see that he hasn’t lost his touch either way, smoothly deflecting your blows, then allowing you to dodge his with minimal effort, until you’re no longer worried about injury in any capacity. 

The steady clash of steel is playful, rhythmic, ebbing and flowing like a dance, and you’ve broken only a light sweat by the time Hector manages to angle in close, snatching a kiss from your lips when you move to parry. You breathe out the warmest of laughs before pulling him back for more, and you don’t let your mouth leave his until a beat of thunder cracks through the sky and the downpour starts, turning the ground dark and muddy under the torrent of rain.

You end up in the armory behind a row of lances, your clothes on the floor in a wet heap. Hector’s breath is hot on the nape of your neck, and the feeling is seamless, as though you’re both back in your younger years, loving each other earnestly. There’s a glimmer of daring in his gaze, burnished to a bright and lively luster, and the look he gives you is enough to convince you not to keep your voice down. The storm rages on, just like old times.


	3. windburn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me, pointing at any and every incarnation of Lyn: That's my fucking WIFE

Midnight comes and goes, and it feels like a dream when Lyn inevitably begins to grow tired of pointing at constellations, opting instead to let her arm fall by her side and slot her fingers smoothly between yours. Her eyes sparkle like a mirror under the stars brightening the inky sky, and you can’t help but grin like a schoolchild when she sits upright and brings the back of your hand to her lips, slowly, tenderly, kissing over each of your knuckles in turn. You give her palm a gentle squeeze, and she takes a moment to simply stare at you, her gaze vibrant with affection, before lying back down over the blanket that you’d spread across the ground.

 _I wish I could stay with you forever_ , she says, quietly, and you hold her closer, tighter. You’d spend every evening with her if you could, dozing by her side against the solitary knoll that she’d found just on the outskirts of Castle Caelin. You tell her as much, feeling as though time has slowed to a crawl, and she says that it reminds her of home. Then, that you remind her of home.

You feel yourself shiver under the cool breeze that drapes over you, and Lyn looks up at you wistfully as her bangs ruffle in the wind, silky emerald, like the grass that spills across the plains of Sacae. There’s a pang of sympathy in your throat, but you ignore the hint of hesitation that it brings as you smooth your fingers through the wavy tresses of her hair, partially aiming to comfort, partially aiming to distract. She breathes evenly, and the melancholy in her expression fades and fades, until her eyes meet yours once again and there’s a different sort of ache behind your ribs.

You lean in to press a kiss to her forehead, softly, finding that you’re not exactly caught off guard when she tilts her head to meet your lips directly. Her movements are fluid, yet mostly patient, so that you don’t feel rushed when she hikes the bend of her knee over your hip, first pulling you flush, then twining her legs between your own. Your hands find the curve of her waist with ease before turning tentative, gently caressing the small of her back, and you feel her sigh in contentment, breath puffing warmly over your mouth.

You hum just a bit when Lyn slips into languor, idly tracing the jut of your collar through your overshirt. Her touch is precise, featherlight, and she smiles as you twitch under the crisp tickle of cotton, thumbing over your sternum. She teases only slightly, and you’re happy to let her, but the hour is late, and eventually she curls against you to sleep, tucking her head carefully into the crook of your shoulder. She sets her palm over your chest, searching for the steady thrum of your heart, and discovers that it’s beating faster than normal.

 _I love you_ , she whispers.

_And I, you._


End file.
